


you don't love me

by loverseas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Hanahaki Disease, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Introspection, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Character Death, Pining, Relationship Study, This isnt a happy fic, Unhappy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverseas/pseuds/loverseas
Summary: When the world finally faded into black Atsumu didn’t weep over his wilted garden.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	you don't love me

**Author's Note:**

> hi so uh, please mind the tags this is kind of a lot.
> 
> enjoy some pure, unfiltered angst !!

Miya Atsumu’s world ends on a Friday night. His limbs are heavy and his eyes are burning but how he feels physically is trivial compared to how his heart hurts. Even the flowers can’t compare. 

He looks to the beautiful boy in his bed and can no longer feel happy. It wasn’t enough. Not just fleeting touches with poisonous fingertips or the silky trace of tongue. What they had wasn’t love.

Atsumu could remember when he admired flowers for their beauty. Now they weren’t anything more than his greatest demon. When his foster mother wasn’t high she’d be planting flowers. From roses to asphodels. She’d take more care of her gardens than she ever did the kids she had. She couldn’t have kids herself, so she made that up with foster children. He didn’t know if the system really knew how she was. Well, she had been an actress previously. She must have been good at pretending. That made two of them.

Atsumu didn’t grow to resent the flowers, nor the woman. He still attended the funeral, when the drugs finally did consume her completely. 

  
  


When Atsumu was hunched over the ceramic toilet bowl, lungs screaming and throat burning; he did start to feel resentment for the flowers. With every heave he felt like some creature with pinpoint claws and firehot skin was reaching in his chest, digging around and leaving nothing but torn flesh and despair in its wake. His head throbbed with exertion, salty-hot tears cascading down his cheeks. 

Sakusa had always said he was prettiest when he cried. Atsumu wondered if he’d think he was pretty now; even if he was fully clothed and dying from the inside out.

When his body thought he’d endured hell for long enough he slumped against the toilet. Purple saliva stained the water and thick inky petals clogged the drain. In some twisted way, Atsumu still found them to be nothing short of beautiful. 

He coughed and flushed it down, down with his love six feet under.

  
  
  


Sakusa Kiyoomi was made for the world. It wasn’t worthy of him but he was here for a purpose all the same. When he flew to hit Atumu’s sets he was like a god. His wings, bold and strong sprung from his inner core and he shook the floor with the force. 

_ But man has no wings. _

__ Sakusa found his own way to fly. 

Sakusa was always a star in Atsumu’s eyes, even if the only look he got in return was a dark one behind a locked door. On the court, his eyes were only ever glued to the ball. It was all he cared about, all that was worthy of his stare.

Even when Sakusa was tucked into a corner, deep scowl behind his dark mask be shone brighter than anyone else in the room. You’d have to be a damn fool to not see what he possessed. Even after taking a couple years off to do college he still joined a pro team and took the title of super ace from anyone’s hands.

  
  


For a while, it was enough. 

Atsumu gleamed under attention, and at times like these Sakusa wouldn’t ever take his eyes off of him. His hands were always rough as he gripped onto Atsumu’s waist, his thighs, his hair, his throat. Sakusa would leave celestine marks behind, hues of reds and blues. Under his gaze, Atsumu would bloom brighter than any of the flowers in his late foster mother’s garden.

Sakusa would fuck into him like he was angry. Atsumu supposed he was. He let him take, ruthlessly with the force of his hips, leaving no room for objections. Like Atsumu had any.

It was perfect, it was detrimental. 

Sakusa would never leave afterwards. Sakusa’d warm up a cloth and clean him up; gentler than he’d ever been before, and he’d press his chest to Atsumu’s back and lay with him. Only in those moments, could Atsumu pretend what they had was love. He could pretend that every smile, every laugh, every touch was meant for him. That whatever he was feeling in that stupid, dying chest of his was returned.

But, if it was, the flowers wouldn’t be there, right? He’d no longer be beautiful, Sakusa’s pretty garden.

  
  
  


Atsumu tended to cry when he was sure Sakusa was asleep. He’d gotten used to it, choking on his sobs and letting his shoulders shake silently. He never used to care much about the wellbeing of others; Osamu told him that’s why everyone always hated him. That and being completely obsessed with himself, but it was hard to think of yourself as anything when Sakusa was there beside you. 

Without even trying he stole his heart, stroked it gently with his perfectly manicured fingers before throwing it away like a smoked cigarette butt. The smoke was his soul, laid bare against the sky before dissipating and leaving absolutely nothing in its wake. At least Sakusa enjoyed himself when he was still around.

  
  
  


“I don’t love you, Atsumu,” Sakusa said on the day of high school graduation after he’d pulled Atsumu behind the bleachers and kissed him breathless. Sakusa’s eyes were dark and his lips were red and he held onto Atsumu’s heart with his claws. 

“I know,” Atsumu said. He did; of course, he did. Nothing about their relationship was loving. It was greedy and it was selfish. But he couldn’t give it up. It was all he had left. 

Atsumu scuffed up his knees on the uneven ground. 

  
  
  


Lately, things have been getting worse. Atsumu knew his time was running out. Today, Sakusa left. He never used to leave. Atsumu suspected he had started to get bored. 

Like routine, he was back to the toilet. It was getting harder and harder each day. Atsumu coughed, coughed and coughed until he started to throw it up. The beautiful flower that bloomed in his lungs was starting to get deadly. Possibly, it was always that way. 

Atsumu heaved and heaved, spat out the thickening flower petals. They came out black. Inky saliva pooled in his mouth, dripping down the corners of his mouth. His eyes stung with the tears he knew were freefalling now. He looked as he always did when he was fucked-out.  _ Do you love me yet, Kiyoomi? _

Of course, he didn’t.

  
  
  


Atsumu couldn’t get it all out. He felt thick petals at the base of his throat but they weren’t budging. He supposed this may be the end. At least he wouldn’t suffer anymore. 

Atsumu’s head was dizzy. There was a thick vine and it sprouted from his heart and it was wrapped around his neck and he was drowning. In his love, and in the feelings, the feelings Sakusa could requite.  _ Why don’t you love me? _

When the world finally faded into black Atsumu didn’t weep over his wilted garden. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
